


Simple People

by mew_tsubaki



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, Konoshiro on the side, M/M, cameos from the other owls tbh, these two are so cute someone help me ;w;
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 16:50:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10925991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mew_tsubaki/pseuds/mew_tsubaki
Summary: Washio, Onaga, and normalcy. .::sequel to "Unhandsome Men"::.





	Simple People

**Author's Note:**

> The Haikyuu! characters belong to Furudate Haruichi-sensei, not to me. Because, as per usual when it comes to rarepairs, I can't help but write a sequel. ;w; Read, review, and enjoy! *Note: This follows "Unhandsome Men," so you might enjoy this more if you read that first. :]

It was nice, Washio thought, being pampered. It wasn't something to which he was accustomed, but he knew why—he'd never let things progress to this point. But finally he had. And he was warming up to the idea of dating Onaga for real.

For keeps.

This was where Washio had let his mind wander during a moment of Onaga's distraction while they were out shopping for new shirts for the younger man. They'd gone on several proper dates in the past couple of months, but this kind of outing was a first. Washio didn't mind. He liked that Onaga appreciated his input, but more so Washio liked the chance to witness Onaga cutting a striking figure in this and that suit.

"I really only need a few new oxfords," Onaga said as he emerged from the dressing room in a brown–black suit. The tie matched but with a slightly metallic sheen, and the shirt was silk and Fukurodani gold and probably a bit much, but… _wow_.

Washio had to bite his tongue from exclaiming in public. He drew his eyes up slowly to meet Onaga's face, and then he raised his eyebrows with a short cock of his head.

That did the trick. Onaga laughed, understanding him right away, and he stepped forward and pecked Washio's lips when the store's employees weren't looking. "I'm happy to indulge, Washio-senpai," he said.

Washio pursed his lips and twisted his mouth around, almost frowning.

Onaga grew fidgety, but not in a way that was a problem. He coughed and averted his eyes to Washio's left shoulder. "…Washio…san," he corrected.

The older man rewarded him with a rare, genuine Washio smile. So Onaga took that and ducked back in to the dressing room.

Washio wasn't mad or upset, really. Onaga _did_ often indulge him—be it with this little modelling session right now or at lunch at work with surprise dishes made just for Washio or at either's apartment by choosing something Washio wanted to watch—and Washio didn't often have to ask for anything from his lover. They were getting used to this life, and Onaga was adjusting to the idea of dating his senpai.

_That_ was the odd part. For Onaga, Washio being his senpai seemed a bigger hurdle for him than Washio being a man. But Washio didn't think it ought to matter much anymore, not when they were going on nine years after exiting high school, nearing a year since Onaga had first joined Washio's company and they'd started their friendship up again.

But they had more than friendship now, and Onaga had taken certain pains to convince Washio of that. So…Washio had asked for one thing specifically: for Onaga to drop the honorific altogether. However, Onaga was weirdly cowardly when it came to some things, and this was one of them, so Washio considered himself lucky that he'd all but gotten Onaga to switch from "-senpai" to "-san," at least.

Onaga emerged from the dressing room in his jeans, t-shirt, and light jacket, since spring was characteristically keeping things chilly outdoors. He put the tried-on items on the return rack and held his hand out for the shirts Washio had been holding for him. They made to head to the register when Onaga paused, and Washio would've bumped into him had he been behind the taller man. "You sure you didn't want to get anything?" he asked Washio, giving him a quick glance.

"I've all I need," Washio said, and it occurred to him an odd beat after Onaga nodded and paid that his words could be construed as sickeningly saccharine, but he understood that Onaga knew him well enough to take his words at face value. When Washio—or Onaga, for that matter—intended to be verbally affectionate, he simply came out and said things that way, pointblank.

Onaga caught up with him near the doors, and they walked into the fresh, late-April air. Onaga held up a hand to shade his eyes from the sun, his other hand holding the bag with his purchases. It bumped Washio's arm, though, and Washio found Onaga eyeing him the next second. "Mind if I…?"

Washio knew what he meant and tore his eyes away, putting more effort into matching his long strides with Onaga's even longer ones. "I do," he answered, shoving his hands deeper into the pockets of his denims.

The younger man didn't whine or complain, things he never did, but he sighed nevertheless. He dropped the subject altogether the moment Washio dismissed public handholding, and his tone was normal when he piped up a block later about eating together. "Did you want to go somewhere?"

"That can get expensive."

"Well, we don't do it often…"

Washio shook his head. "I prefer your cooking anyhow." A small smirk raised the corners of his mouth as Onaga looked away again, this time utterly flustered at the honest flattery, but Washio enjoyed this sight much as he'd enjoyed Onaga in the suit. Plus, he truly meant his words. Onaga often said he had to cook at home so much of the time mostly because his family sent him food almost every other week, but his cooking had become another one of Washio's little indulgences, to the point where Onaga had bought him a gift bento ages ago, before they'd started dating, but that didn't mean Onaga didn't want to share his food any longer. On the contrary, he wanted to feed Washio more, even if Washio preferred broccoli to beef, and Washio loved that.

"W-We can hit the market by my place…," Onaga gave in.

Washio nodded.

By the time they reached the store, Onaga had calmed down, though he hummed to himself, clearly still happy at seeing Washio's smile, which Washio felt was little compensation for everything Onaga did. Still, Onaga in a good mood put Washio in a good mood, and they left with a small fish selection and a haul of squash, eggplant, and zucchini—and thoughts of what tonight's early dinner would be.

Onaga's apartment was a walk and a train ride from where they worked, but Washio had grown increasingly familiar with it, and the cozy venue was a welcome relief after spending the day out shopping and strolling on foot. Washio loved Onaga's kitchenette and living room, though Onaga liked Washio's bed, as it was nicer and, especially important for men of their physical stature, bigger.

That line of thought, and the fact that it was a Sunday, reminded Washio, too, of part of the routine into which they were settling, and he dwelled on it in the quiet of Onaga's kitchenette as he helped out by slicing the fish while Onaga stir-fried the vegetable mix. Dinner like this, at either's apartment, was a fairly normal affair, and they knew each other's homes well by now, though they were over at Onaga's more often than they were at Washio's. But, ever since they'd slept together—"only _partially_ by accident," Onaga insisted—after one of the company drinking parties, the two of them had lightened up severely on the imbibing, so as not to lose their heads again. They were trying not to sleep over at each other's place too often, since they were so new to this, and they'd only been intimate a couple more times, but Washio didn't consider it an issue.

…although, he'd be lying if he said he didn't want to spend the night while images of Onaga in the well-tailored suit continued to float around his head.

"…Washio-san."

"Hmm?"

"If you slice the halibut any thinner, we might as well be eating fish-flavored pieces of paper."

The taciturn owl tore his eyes from Onaga, looked down at his handiwork, and saw Onaga was right. At least he'd only finely filleted part of it. "Sorry."

"It's fine." Onaga chuckled. "I guess staring is one bad habit neither of us can shake."

Washio made a face, causing Onaga to laugh, but, again, Washio knew Onaga was right. Even before either of them had figured out their feelings, even before either of them had admitted their feelings, and even after Onaga had convinced him to give them a chance, staring at the other, especially when the other wasn't looking, was a force of habit they shared. It had never bothered Washio, though, since he'd long ago stopped being self-conscious about the hard contours of his face, and he preferred to spend his time admiring Onaga's strong profile. Onaga did the same with him, though he'd told his lover about a month ago that it was only in growing close to Washio again that Onaga had given up being bothered with his appearance, too.

At that, Washio's mind flickered to the story of Onaga's ex, and his nose rankled in distaste, confusing an Onaga who obviously couldn't hear inside his head. The idea that anyone—even a woman whom Onaga had thought he loved so much to the point of considering marrying her—would berate Onaga over the looks his genes had given him was preposterous, and it probably always wouldn't sit well with Washio.

"Don't worry. I'm just thinking of something inconsequential," he fibbed when Onaga raised one dark eyebrow.

Onaga frowned but shrugged, believing him. "Oh!" he exclaimed as he turned the stove's heat down low. "Being out earlier reminded me, because I saw a bridal shop when we were out." Once he was sure it was safe to look away from the food, he fixed Washio with a steady gaze. " _Are_ you going to go to Konoha-san's wedding?"

Ah. That. Washio didn't respond, because he wasn't sure _how_ to respond. He vividly recalled Shirofuku's email towards the end of January, the same day Onaga had cornered him and officially confessed. Konoha had proposed to his longtime on-again/off-again girlfriend, and Shirofuku had sent Washio a picture of them and the ring with an informal "you're invited," and then—

—then Onaga had said they should attend.

It likely shouldn't've been the surprise it was to Washio, what with the boldness Onaga had gained after their night together helping him to sort out his feelings, the same boldness that had propelled him to find Washio hiding in the reference room at work and to put Washio on the spot so they'd admit their mutual attraction. But saying such a thing was too big a step, Washio thought, and they hadn't talked about the wedding since, even though the event was about two months away now, even though the official invitation had arrived in Washio's mail two weeks ago and was out of sight on his bookshelf at home.

"Washio-san?"

Ah. Onaga was furrowing his brow, so Washio put the knife down and planted his hands on the cutting board, pushing off it a little and leaning up some. He met Onaga's eyes and hoped the latter read the uncertainty there, the "I'm undecided" there. Then he kissed him, and that was that.

* * *

Onaga…was a little confused.

For him and Washio, there were certain things that had transferred over from their friendship to their relationship. Quiet companionship—the lack of need for words 'round the clock—was one of them. A certain level of honesty, as well. But…perhaps one of the most comforting things and yet one of the most delicate balances in their romance was that honesty actually being _eventual_ honesty.

Onaga had been musing on that well throughout the week, mostly when at his desk in Accounting, while his mind paused from the numerical heavy-lifting and he let his fingers take over some of the more simple calculations. He was reflecting on how Washio had never given him an answer about Konoha's wedding, but he knew Washio was only making up his mind about it. He'd tell Onaga. Eventually.

Onaga had to believe that. He'd done the same when he'd first alluded to his past with Amuro, because he'd needed to feel right…maybe reach true peace with his ex…before he opened up to someone other than his parents about the verbal abuse he'd experienced at the sharp tongue of his ex-girlfriend. And he _had_ reached that point, comfortable in his closeness to Washio and knowing the older man's reliable character.

The younger owl grimaced at his monitor as the form on-screen grew more complex, so he knew he couldn't mentally check out any longer. He paused, took the ten minutes to crunch some numbers and adjust some estimations, and then he saved and pushed his chair away from his console, rubbing his eyes and wondering if he'd be a pest if he asked Washio about the wedding a second time.

To be frank, he'd thought Washio would've answered Shirofuku's email or contacted Konoha by now, because Washio and Konoha were good, close friends. But was Onaga's asking if they'd go together too much for Washio to handle? It weren't as if it were a bad thing, right?

Right?

Onaga finished out the workday with that thought circling his brain, and he felt some guilty relief to be going home alone that night, since they tried not to take up all of the other's time. But, really, he knew it was good to be home by himself with this turmoil churning in him, especially when he got out of the bath and went to the tiny, wide cabinet on which his TV rested in his apartment.

He knelt in front of the faux-wood piece and frowned at it. Then he reached for the handle and tugged it open, moving a few favorite DVDs and a phonebook aside to get to the stack of letters he had tucked away there. Two were bills due next month, three were some of the more recent novel-length check-ins from his parents, and one…

One was a cream-colored envelope, with embossed characters on the lip, and it had a twin living in Washio's apartment.

Or so Onaga assumed as he took another look at the contents. But Washio _had_ to have gotten an official invite to Konoha and Shirofuku's wedding, if Onaga had one. Considering Washio and Konoha were, in anyone else's terms, best friends, the idea was axiomatic.

Onaga thought it was awfully nice he, himself, had gotten one at all, knowing he'd fallen out of touch with everyone over the years. Although… He pulled out the magazine atop the phonebook and flipped to an article he'd admired several times last year when he'd stumbled across it. Since seeing this magazine and knowing his senpai had made it as a professional photographer, Onaga couldn't help but look for Akaashi's name in high-end magazine spreads these days.

His eyes returned to the invitation, and he took from the envelope the RSVP card. The checkbox beside "PLUS ONE" was the same length, width, and thickness as the one beside "JUST ME!" but it seemed bolder, maybe a different color, to Onaga, as if demanding his attention. Maybe even taunting him.

But he didn't want to mail that back just yet, not without knowing how Washio would feel about going, together or not. They were Onaga's teammates, but, honestly, they were Washio's friends.

Onaga tried to keep that in mind a couple of nights later when they spent the day at Washio's place, watching television and talking. …er, talking as defined by them, that is, meaning Onaga chattered and Washio listened.

They were sitting on the loveseat, the only piece of furniture Washio had in his living room aside from a TV stand and his bookcase, with Washio in long sleeves and resting comfortably against Onaga's left side. It was likely a bit much, considering Onaga was comfy in just a t-shirt at this point in the season, but he'd learned a while back that Washio tended to steal rather than generate warmth, so at least both were content this way.

A trailer for an upcoming spy movie appeared on the screen, and the villainess's outfit prompted Onaga to comment. "Ah… I wonder if Shirofuku-san will wear a veil like that…"

As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew he couldn't snatch them back, and his shoulders sank as Washio sat up straight, no longer leaning on him.

"Agh, I'm sorry, Washio-sen—Washio-san," he fumbled, turning to the other man in a rush. But, just as quickly, he stopped being panicky. Instead, he analyzed Washio's profile. "…um, are you angry?"

"I'm not," Washio replied, and he unfolded his arms as a convincing gesture. The right side of his mouth twitched, the Washio version of a half-smile. "It's…" He looked as though he'd been about to say "It's all right," but he couldn't get the second part out for some reason. So he shut up and shook his head.

Onaga watched as Washio got to his feet and went to pour himself a glass of water. "Wait… Does that mean you already RSVP'd?" He kicked himself. Phrasing it that way—was it giving away the fact that he knew invitations had been mailed?

Whether it gave it away or not, Onaga wouldn't know. Washio merely stood at his kitchen sink with his back to Onaga, sipping his water…the visible hand gripping the counter.

Damn. He shouldn't've. He _shouldn't've_ pushed. Washio had been quiet about it before, but now he was quieter, and his body language… Something was off, something was wrong—

—and Washio was hiding that something from him.

* * *

"Something's clearly bothering you," Okabe pointed out to Washio unhelpfully the next day at work. He pushed his brown frames up his nose, staring rudely through his lenses at his coworker in an effort to wear Washio down. "Care to tell me what?"

"No," Washio said gruffly, not even looking at the man, though he could feel those eyes on him. Washio set his jaw and pressed on with reviewing his work.

"Oh, really?" Okabe cleared his throat, his voice a little louder when he next spoke. "This doesn't have anything to do with that cute kouhai of yours, does it?"

Washio's hands froze above his keyboard and turned into fists. He glared at Okabe while others in the data center spared a look their way, but they backed off when Washio spoke in undertones to Okabe. "Yes, it _does_ , and I thought you knew better than to bring up that kind of business here."

To Washio's surprise, Okabe gave him an unimpressed look and smirked. "Tatsuki—"

"I asked you to stop being familiar." Damn it. One accidental night with this idiot, _ages_ ago, and Washio couldn't shake him.

"Tatsuki," Okabe repeated, pushing his glasses up into his light brown hair, "you act as though it's funny business we're talking about. But it's not. It's not funny business, it's not shop—it's just your love life."

The dark-haired man deflated, placing his hands in his lap. "You're…"

"Yes?"

"You're too optimistic, calling it just a 'love life.'"

Okabe eyed him a moment longer. Then he agreed. "Yeah… Yeah, I know," he said softly, and he turned back to his own computer.

Washio debated getting back to work, but Okabe's annoyance had made him antsy, so he got up and headed for the third-floor balcony, where many of the smokers in the company went for their numerous breaks. But, Washio realized with his hand on the door to step outside, he had no cigarettes on him. He'd cut back unconsciously since Onaga's arrival last year, and he'd been forgetting to buy a pack quite often, as of late.

He released the handle and returned to his desk, but it was hard to focus. Especially with Okabe darting his bespectacled stare Washio's way every half-hour or so.

Of _course_ something was bothering Washio. And there was no doubt in his mind that Onaga knew something was up, too, especially after last night. But Washio couldn't bring himself to tell Onaga the truth. He just couldn't.

It was one thing for Okabe to know about them. Early on in his newly discovered sexuality, Washio had been Okabe's partner for a night, without realizing Okabe worked with him. It hadn't bothered Okabe, being a one-night stand, but he'd fancied himself Washio's friend ever since. That wasn't the worst thing in the world, either; they'd been each other's wingman at gay bars. And, frankly, it was a bit of a relief, knowing that one person knew about the new Washio.

Well, two people now, but. Still.

The point was that Okabe knew to keep his mouth shut, and the reason _why_ he kept his mouth shut was the same reason that Washio refused to give Onaga a straight answer about the wedding, the same reasoning behind keeping all of their displays of affection behind closed doors. Okabe had more experience with it than he did, but Washio had experience regardless with how bystanders saw him, thought of him, spoke of him. And Washio didn't want Onaga to experience that. He didn't want to subject Onaga to the potential slurs they might encounter if anyone found out about them.

If Onaga had to face that… Washio shook his head, knowing exactly how he felt about that scenario. If Onaga had to face that, then Washio would feel as though he were subjecting Onaga to more verbal abuse, even if it didn't come from him. But he really, _really_ didn't want Onaga to think he'd landed himself in another situation like the one with his ex-girlfriend.

After the awkwardness the other night, Washio was relieved when Onaga texted him that they couldn't meet that night, as Onaga had something his boss had asked him to stay late to finish. So Washio took the long way home, hoping to clear his head. Extending his walk didn't help much, however, so he grabbed a drink at the ramen stand near his apartment complex.

At the tiny, four-seat stall, Washio sat at one end, and a pair of salarymen ate at the other end, whooping it up as they inhaled their meal and plenty of sake. Obviously they got along well; maybe they were even friends…

Washio gripped the neck of his beer bottle, grimacing. Was he jumping to conclusions about his friends, about their friends? He mostly saw them as former teammates now, since he'd lost touch with the majority of them. He only knew from sports magazines that Bokuto had at last become a regular on a professional volleyball team in the neighboring prefecture. He knew only the things Konoha had told him over the years about Shirofuku, with the exception of a couple of times when Shirofuku had yelled into the phone that Konoha was misbehaving one time or another. Shirofuku stayed in touch with Suzumeda, and Konoha occasionally heard from Sarukui or Komi, Washio knew, but he didn't know what they were up to, and Akaashi was just as big a mystery to him now.

They'd all gotten along well at club…but that had been a _long_ time ago. Washio had been scared for even Onaga to find out about him last year, and, in a way, he'd kind of lucked out in that regard, falling for the guy.

But what if that hadn't been the case? Would Onaga have chosen to remain close to him? And the same went for Konoha, if he ever found out about Washio. Truthfully, Washio believed, you found out who your real friends were when the time came to accept or to shun you.

It was just that Washio didn't want that time to come.

His relief grew, believing he had a solid stance now. No, he hadn't made up his mind about going to the wedding, but he was sure he didn't want to debut things there, causing a mess for Onaga, for him, for Konoha and Shirofuku—definitely them, considering that day was for them and their family.

Yet that didn't make it any easier when he and Onaga were together and other reminders—be it the television, the engaged couple on the same floor as Onaga at his apartment building, advertisements around the city, the woman in HR who'd just returned from her honeymoon—cropped up. Onaga was an exemplary boyfriend, not speaking a single word about the impending nuptials, but his eyes said it all. So Washio discovered a new talent for distracting Onaga.

When they were at work? Easy. Washio would steer Onaga further away from their gossiping, chatty coworkers when they ate lunch together, or he'd find a new spot on one of the building's balconies. He also tried, on occasion, to have them go out for supper after work in lieu of going over to either apartment, because food was forever a great distraction…except when at home, with the TV on.

When they were out? A bit tougher. Washio would bring up something interesting he saw on the news or point across the street at any random thing, striking up a conversation about whatever he happened to spot.

When they were home? Actually, that was easiest. If something came on the TV, Washio would lean over and kiss him. That worked the first few times, but then a kiss wasn't enough, and they got better at finding a comfortable position on his loveseat to make out. And, if they were at Onaga's place…

One such night found them at Onaga's apartment, when a deep kiss and a thigh squeeze weren't enough. Washio had to break for breath, so Onaga had turned the television off, but then his mouth was back on Washio's, he had Washio's arms tighter around his neck, and his hands were pulling up and pushing down various pieces of clothing, and Washio was so caught up in the heat, in Onaga, that he couldn't've cared less how they'd gotten to this point, but _damn_ it was good to be in Onaga's arms again. What started as sex on the floor led to lovemaking on the bed, and the part of Washio that had been so bothered actually quieted when he fell asleep, warmed by Onaga's body and surrounded by Onaga's scent.

* * *

He was happy.

But he was also torn.

But! He was happy.

And yet…

Onaga awoke in his bed, the gray light from his window telling him it was an extremely early hour. He fidgeted some, getting a sense of where all his limbs were and finding his right arm, as had happened several times before, pinned underneath Washio's head along with a pillow. That made Onaga smile, and he couldn't help turning his head, burying his face in the softness of the hair on the back of that sleepy head.

Washio said nothing, giving no indication he was awake. But he stirred slightly, just enough to scooch backwards and tuck his shoulder in towards Onaga's, to press his back against Onaga's chest.

Onaga reached up and brushed some of the hair from his view so he could watch the older man sleep a tad longer. But, as easily as his smile had come, it faded, and Onaga had to wonder what was going on with Washio, to bring such a handsy change to the normally prudish man.

Though he didn't want to make the comparison, Onaga understood it was the bells going off in his head—and in his heart—about Washio's growing quietness. Those times when they were out and Washio randomly plucked a conversation topic out of thin air didn't count. Overall, Washio wasn't actually talking to him. In fact, that chatter was too uncharacteristic of him; it was worse than him not speaking at all. And…it reminded Onaga of his ex.

Amuro had had a similar quiet spell before she'd begun her gripes and criticisms about Onaga and his appearance. Not that Onaga could imagine polite Washio taking stabs at him like that, but Onaga had to wonder. Maybe…maybe Washio had changed his mind about them. After all, Onaga was the one to insist on starting the relationship, and Washio had shown a _lot_ of resistance. Even now, Washio still resisted public displays of affection or staying over too often…though the latter stance had shifted, and Onaga sensed it wasn't exactly for the right reason.

Onaga grimaced at himself as he stroked Washio's hair, kicking himself for comparing Washio to Amuro. Even with something not right—with something wrong—between them, Onaga bucked up, feeling that the only way to sort this out was to be persistent with Washio. Not that he planned on bringing up the wedding again or confronting the man to speak his thoughts, but Onaga decided he'd place his faith in that eventual honesty they shared. And, if that wasn't good enough, he'd figure something, _anything_ else out, because he wasn't ready for their relationship to fall apart.

Actually, he wasn't willing to let it fall apart. At _all_.

As the gray light of the early morning warmed to the hues of a reasonable hour, Onaga's hand in Washio's hair slowed to a halt as he wrapped his caught arm tightly around the other man. Letting go of Washio was something that Onaga daren't think, he knew. He would keep this relationship going, because he _cared_ , he really _cared_ for Washio. Maybe part of it was selfishness, for not wanting to lose the one person in whom he'd found solace all those years ago and still found solace in now. But there was something to be said for selfishness, no?

He didn't feel as torn when Washio's eyes blinked open and he kissed Washio awake, pleased that his senpai was groggily docile before the alarm went off. "Good morning," he spoke softly, resting his forehead against Washio's.

"…'morning," the older man mumbled, sounding like his usual self.

Onaga blinked and broke out into a smile, stifling his laughter that only confused Washio. Yes, the younger owl knew, things would take time, but they would work out in the end.

That morning and that day surprisingly felt more like their early days, Onaga noted, before the tension about the wedding had developed. After work, they returned to Onaga's apartment, though Washio went home after dinner and a goodnight kiss, both of them back to being on their best behavior.

As the week continued on in this manner, Onaga felt cheery at his desk, thinking the change back was the happy result of two things. Either the May weather was more enjoyable for a summer baby like Washio, or they got on better than either of them had realized. So the moment Onaga had resolved to fight for them no matter what, maybe Washio had sensed the reassuring stance his lover now took, and maybe that was all for which he'd been looking. If they were the mawkish type, Onaga figured at the end of another business day while he waited to meet Washio in the main lobby, he would let Washio know he'd figured the older man out and then reassure him verbally and physically.

"You're in a good mood," Washio stated as he drew up alongside Onaga. They exited the building, and the noise from the city made it hard to hear each other, but they stayed close together, close enough to exchange words easily.

Onaga debated telling him what had been running through his mind. But then Washio furrowed his brow, perplexed, and the sight was too cute for Onaga to dismiss, so he merely smiled and shook his head. "I got a lot done today," he conceded, which _was_ true. It'd been a productive day, his happy thoughts keeping him focused.

Washio smiled gently. "Sounds like something to celebrate."

"Not really." Onaga paused. "Oh! But if you wanted to eat out—"

So rare for Washio to suggest! But the older man shrugged. "We can do something light. Maybe the bar?"

"The bar? Which…" Ah. "You mean the one the company uses for the drinking parties?"

Washio's eyes widened slightly, probably drawing the same conclusion Onaga had. "I didn't mean we'd have a repeat…"

"It's fine, it's fine," Onaga said with a laugh, bumping his shoulder with Washio's in lieu of tugging on the other male's hand. "Maybe we can ask them for the group discount, even if it's just the two of us."

Washio gave him a thankful smile for putting a positive spin on his foible.

They reached the bar a few minutes later, and Onaga earned himself some snickers from his lover when the hostess recognized them but informed him that they couldn't have the discount. Still, the bar had yet to be busy and had no scheduled large parties, so she offered one of the smaller function rooms to them, if they wanted it.

"No, thank you. We'll be fine with a regular table," Washio insisted, and he patted Onaga on the back for his efforts as they were shown the way to their seats. His hand lingered on Onaga's broad back while the hostess's attention was in front of them, and Onaga saw it as some hope that whatever it was that had been an issue lately was not something that couldn't be fixed.

"Did you also have a good day, Washio-san?" Onaga asked.

Washio shook his head. "It was average," he replied, his eyes looking tired for a second. But that slight smile of his was back on his face when he locked eyes with Onaga again. Looking at Onaga, he seemed relieved, somehow. "But you're in a good mood. That's…kind of infectious," he admitted.

It had been a while, but Onaga's heart still knew how to skip a beat at these little moments where Washio was just so…stunningly romantic without trying to be, _charming_ without trying to be. That charm was a quality Onaga in hindsight had admired about the high school Washio and now got to enjoy about the adult Washio. And the bubbliness that people described as butterflies in their stomach appeared in Onaga's middle, unlikely to disappear for the night.

The waitress came and took their drink order, and Onaga launched into a list of new recipes he was going to try since he was expecting another care package from home soon. Washio listened intently, piping up now and then with requests, showing that small childishness that Onaga found endearing.

"Considering we're pretty much now in prime season for fruit," the younger male said, "I expect my parents will start sending whatever fruit comes their way."

Though it was subtle, Washio's eyes narrowed, and a line formed between his eyebrows.

Onaga laughed. "I know, I know, Washio-san…! That's fine as long as nothing's too sweet, right?"

The older owl's cheeks darkened with a bit of color, and Onaga laughed again.

Their drinks arrived, brought by a different waiter, but Onaga thought nothing of it—

"Eh? Tatsuki-san?"

It only took one second for it to sink in, for the familiarity of the name to register with Onaga. He didn't even have to look at Washio to know—he knew his senpai's given name—so he looked instead at the waiter, the waiter who was too chipper upon seeing Washio, the waiter who was undoubtedly years below them, the waiter who had wide, bright eyes and long, styled, blue–black hair and skin that their female coworkers would envy—

Washio dismissed him with a gruff shake of his head and a glare, of which Onaga saw the tail-end out of the corner of his eye.

But the waiter didn't appear to mind. He knelt, placed their drinks on the table, and pushed off the floor to stand back up, his hand on the floor near Washio but never touching the other man.

Regardless, nothing needed to be said or asked for Onaga to sum up the interaction.

As soon as he was gone, their first waitress returned to take their food order, which was light, just as conversation at their table was once she disappeared again. Onaga tried to summon the evening's earlier enjoyment back to no avail. He kept clenching and unclenching his fist atop his thigh.

Washio sighed after he finished his water. "I'm sorry," he said.

Onaga flinched at the words.

Washio frowned. "Onaga… He's not even in my history," he said quietly. "He flirted before, and it never took. He shouldn't've done it tonight, either. It won't work." His dark eyes seemed to add "It'll never work, since I've got you."

He wanted to say something, but a lump formed in his throat. Instead, Onaga mustered a smile, and he nodded, not feeling at all as relieved as Washio was as the older man sighed a second time.

But the scenario begged the question: Just what _had_ been Washio's type up until Onaga?

The question had flitted through Onaga's thoughts a handful of times—when they'd first slept together, and when Onaga had asked him out officially. But he'd told himself each time that it didn't matter, that those men were in Washio's past, that Onaga was Washio's present and, if Onaga could help it, Washio's future, too.

He didn't intend to ask Washio about that. Ever. And he didn't say anything about it that night or at work the next day. But he felt… _fidgety_ , his senses heightened, whenever he saw another guy speak to Washio or look at him.

Had Washio's section chief ever hit on him?

What about that pretty but scary fellow from HR, Shino-something-or-other?

Or—

"Onaga?"

Onaga jolted a bit at Washio's voice when the other man met him at the doorway to the data center.

"Is everything all right?"

"Uh…" Onaga bit his bottom lip. "I'm just…thinking." Again, not a lie. And yet…

Washio patted his shoulder and held up a folder. "I'll be right back. I've a report to turn in, and then we can go to lunch."

Onaga nodded, and he watched Washio walk away. He tugged at his collar, wondering if he could go on much longer with this half honesty, without asking about Washio's history… His thoughts were torn away from the topic for a second when he sensed someone else walk up to him, but then his mind was right back to it when he saw who it was.

Okabe, who worked here in the data center with Washio, gave Onaga a fox's grin…but, Onaga decided, it was more of a devil's smile. Konoha had fox grins, but they were fun and friendly. Onaga didn't want to put someone like Okabe in the same category as his former senpai. "Hey there, Kouhai," the light-haired man said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Hello," Onaga said politely.

"I don't think I properly introduced myself before. I'm Okabe," he said, producing a name card for Onaga to take. He freely eyed the taller man as Onaga begrudgingly pocketed the card.

"Onaga," the owl stated, and he wondered if he was meant to give his card, too. He'd left his stash in his desk, but he also didn't want to Okabe to have his contact info just as he didn't want Okabe's, either.

"I'm kind of surprised."

"Huh?"

Okabe stuck his hands in his pockets, swaying from side to side a little so that his employee ID swung some around his neck. "At how close you and Tatsuki are."

Again. Someone else being _that_ familiar with Washio's given name— It was enough to make Onaga grit his teeth, but he gave nothing away. So. He'd been right about Okabe. Nevertheless, Onaga wouldn't share anything with Okabe that Washio wouldn't want shared. "We are," he confirmed, "but we're old schoolmates. We played volleyball for Fukurodani toge—"

"Oh, cut the crap, it's fine." Okabe waved at him as if the idea of it being only a friendship were as bothersome as midsummer mosquitoes. "Look. I know about you guys. It's all right," he added quickly when Onaga tensed. "Honestly, it's all right. I'm a friend. I… Actually, I don't think it's a bad thing, you two finding each other." He scratched the back of his head, messing up his light brown hair in the back. He smoothed it the longer Onaga stared. "What?"

"You…really think that?"

Okabe had rather plain eyes, but they were soft and round and kind-looking when he peered over his rims. "I do. As I said, I'm only surprised."

Despite feeling excited that someone would imply Onaga and Washio suited each other, Onaga still felt as if he were waiting for Washio to return while beside a wild animal. Not that Okabe had a wild vibe about him…but his tongue seemed sharp. "Is it that much of a shock?" Onaga finally asked.

"Not exactly. Just… You're not the pretty boy type, so I'm surprised Tatsuki would go for you. But a change can do a person good," he added, that devil's smile back and bigger than ever.

And that was all Onaga needed to start to lose his confidence.

* * *

He thought he'd figured it out. He thought he'd figured out the timing, the need for the various distractions so well that Onaga finally had accepted Washio's new penchant for abruptness. With that and a firm decision that he'd not attend the wedding _with_ Onaga, Washio had breathed easy for the first time in a long while.

And then Mitsuru had reared his pretty face.

Washio had forgotten about the waiter completely until that night last week. He wouldn't've even glanced his way if Mitsuru hadn't called his name because Washio had been on an after-work dinner date with Onaga and he'd been happy and Onaga had been laughing and smiling and in such a pleasant mood and—

"You're gonna get permanent frown lines," Okabe teased from his console.

Washio stopped grimacing, hearing Okabe's words, but he couldn't stop frowning, not when he thought about the little disaster Mitsuru had caused. And it didn't make sense, anyway. Washio had turned Mitsuru down ages ago, well before Onaga had been a romantic consideration and even before the two owls had reconnected.

Okabe gasped, loudly and likely on purpose to catch Washio's attention again. "Oh, no… You didn't break your little kouhai's heart already, did you?"

The gruff man turned stiffly in his chair towards Okabe. "No, I did not, and that's not going to happen." Although, as he said it, he realized that that wasn't entirely up to him, should there ever come a time when Onaga misread something Washio said or did.

…oh. Hadn't that happened already, with the talk about not going to Konoha's wedding together?

Washio bit his lower lip, trying to calm himself. No, no… There'd been a misunderstanding, but it had been sort of explained, hadn't it? And Onaga had stopped being shocked by all the times Washio distracted him… Things had gone back to normal…

And then Mitsuru had happened.

Washio left his desk and went outside to clear his head. It wasn't that Mitsuru was a concern, but, after, Onaga's smile had felt strange once more. It was nearly forced…no, not forced.

Strained.

The word felt oddly right as Washio crossed his arms in front of his chest and brought a hand up to rest his chin, thinking. He'd seen Onaga this way once before, when he'd been unsure about sharing about his ex last year. A strained smile from a timid Onaga—Washio had seen it several times the past few days. But why? Washio had explained immediately that the waiter was _not_ an issue, so… _why_?

His phone buzzed in his pocket with a text from Onaga asking about lunch. Washio sent a confirmation that he'd eat with him, and then the dark-haired man returned to the data center to get back to work.

A minute later, Okabe rolled over to him. "Hey, Tatsuki… I was just teasing, all right?" His tone sounded weak, not full of its usual bravado. "I, um, didn't hit a nerve, did I…?"

Washio glanced at him. He shook his head, appreciating for the first time that Okabe knew the truth about him, and liking that Okabe was not being an ass for once. "You didn't."

"Okay." The brunet waited for a second. "Then things are good between you two? 'Cause you probably shouldn't let such a loyal puppy go."

_That_ sounded more like the Okabe Washio knew. "He's not a puppy," Washio corrected, but he agreed about Onaga's loyalty. Truthfully, even though Washio had told Onaga to make friends elsewhere in the company, he rather enjoyed that Onaga clung to his side.

For lack of a better word, things felt _right_ with Onaga, and that was why Washio could enjoy that kind of clinginess. It was also why Washio didn't mind being a bit pampered, being a bit childish around Onaga. He hadn't known he could be selfish before Onaga came along, and he hadn't known Onaga could be clingy, dependable, take-charge, too kind until Washio had taken that first step and asked if they could rekindle an old friendship that had worked well in the first place.

And it was for exactly those reasons that he didn't want to hurt Onaga by outing him prematurely in a venue that could really do them in.

_Maybe he_ is _a puppy_ , the older owl thought that weekend after getting a text from Onaga that he was working late that Saturday night and so he'd go right home after. Washio didn't mind being home by himself, and the chance allowed him a moment to chuckle over his mental image of a puppy with wings sitting at Onaga's desk, crunching numbers well into the night.

He reheated some leftovers that Onaga had made earlier in the week, and he sat on the loveseat, clicking through the TV channels. Washio took his first bite and barely swallowed before his phone rang.

Unusual. Not that he and Onaga never called each other, but he'd just gotten a text. The idea that maybe Onaga was calling to hear his voice occurred to him, and Washio warmed from more than the home-cooked meal.

Alas, it was only Konoha.

"You answered pretty quickly," Konoha remarked when Washio answered on the second ring.

"My phone was already in my hand," Washio told him.

"Uh-huh. Hey, have you got a minute?"

Figuring this would be more than a quick chat, Washio put his plate on the bookcase beside the loveseat, and he turned the television off. "Shoot."

"Yeah. Um. So…"

Washio quirked an eyebrow. It was always something serious when Konoha acted this nervously.

"I wanted to know if you would like to be my best man?"

The taciturn owl was a little stunned. He didn't answer right away, but only because he had yet to make up his mind about his attendance. "I'm flattered," he said.

Konoha sucked in a breath. It was easy to picture his eyes brightening.

"But…" Washio frowned, hating that his tone conveyed so clearly how iffy he felt about the job.

"It's okay, honest," Konoha said, and Washio believed him because he could hear the smile in the blond's tone.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Don't sweat it. Frankly, I…didn't really think you _would_ accept, since you're not the type to be in the spotlight."

Well, he wasn't wrong. Even those times they'd gone to the Spring High and to Nationals, Washio had always been a reliable background man, same as Onaga.

"Still, I wanted to ask because I wanted you to know you're my first choice. I have a teenage cousin who I bet will do it in your place, though, so don't worry about me taking offense, because I don't." There was amusement in his voice, and Washio knew Konoha meant everything he said.

Washio also liked that Konoha had asked him regardless. "Thank you, Konoha," he said, and he could practically hear his friend grin.

But, a moment later, Konoha cleared his throat. "By the way…"

"Yes?"

"Are you coming stag or…?"

Ah. So there were two reasons behind this call. Washio sighed, feeling very tired all of a sudden.

"Sorry, sorry! But I need to know," Konoha insisted. "Yukie and her mom are driving themselves nuts over the headcount, so the sooner we figure it out, the better, and my list's a lot smaller than hers, so." He paused, sighed himself, and continued in a small voice, "And you being there is important to me, man."

Hell. "I'll be by myself," he blurted.

"Great! I'll let Yukie know."

Oh, no. What had Washio done? "Ah—"

There was some noise on Konoha's end, and at least two or three voices appeared in the background. "Oh, uh— Yeah, Yukie, it's Washio— Hold on, I—" He groaned. "Sorry, man. Gotta go. But I'll see you at the end of next month! Bye!" And the line disconnected.

And Washio sat there, staring at his phone, realizing how badly he'd fucked up, even without Onaga around to misread the situation.

Oh. Shit.

* * *

There was safety in numbers. So, Onaga discovered, there was safety in quantifying everything, too.

The two of them—him and Washio—being alone was always better than being together around anyone else, and they could spend time alone together usually three times a day at work: meeting in the morning (if they didn't arrive together), getting together for lunch, and at least seeing each other out at the end of the day.

They ate together every day at lunch and most nights, with breakfast happening once on the weekend every other week. Always at least two dishes with a side, Onaga made sure they ate well, and Washio helped him prepare their food around ninety-three percent of the time, depending on what Onaga needed done and what Washio knew how to do. While cooking, they were guaranteed to catching the other's eye twice, and Onaga could peek and witness Washio's shy almost-smiles four to five times between plating the food and cleaning their plates.

When watching television together, food in front of them or not, Washio was bound to change the channel a dozen or so times, but he remained leaning or cuddled up against Onaga once he decided to snuggle. He also linked two fingers, consciously or not, with three of Onaga's when they kissed goodnight before going home, and Onaga came to learn that Washio liked to check in the middle of the night at least once that Onaga was still in bed with him when they _did_ sleep over, with just a quick poke of his toe to Onaga's calf before arranging Onaga's arm beneath his head like a pillow. Onaga learned of this after being woken twice, but he didn't mind it.

He didn't mind it, and he couldn't mind it. Struggling with confidence in himself and in their relationship, Onaga thought it better to quantify everything about them, because numbers and statistics made sense to him. He still felt like such a novice at love, so his mastery of numbers would have to help.

Discerning that Washio liked to sit only an inch from him when they ate together at work.

Calculating that the on-foot distance between their apartments was longer but more enjoyable than a quick taxi ride home.

Remembering that he could get away with one stolen kiss in public per two outings without being reprimanded.

Learning that Washio would be in the mood or not twenty minutes after they had dinner or after they got home from being out and about.

Counting the number of places that'd make Washio jolt in his arms (sucking on the right hollow of his neck, tweaking either of his nipples, caressing that sensitive spot on his lower back right above his left hip, stroking precisely high up on the insides of his thighs without helping him release).

Keeping track of how many condoms he had left (four at home for sure, but at Washio's? hmmm…).

Recognizing that Washio came exactly two thrusts before he did.

Identifying that one time was enough for him to be absent when Washio woke in the morning after one of their intimate nights, and the sadness in the older man's eyes made Onaga swear to himself that he'd be there whenever Washio woke, come hell or high water.

Heartbreaking though that scene was, Washio had fallen back asleep in Onaga's arms when the younger man returned to bed, and that moment was one of many that made Onaga simply happy, that he felt desired and needed by this person for whom he cared a tremendous amount. He felt the same way when Washio would break into a beautiful, wide smile, especially right before laughing or going to kiss Onaga. It was such a pure joy, such a pure emotion, that Onaga really couldn't describe it as anything but being _happy_.

Yet Onaga also couldn't help but feel as though he didn't deserve to lose himself in those moments, in those little chances that came a dozen times a week, his thoughts plagued with ideas of not being right for Washio, of not living up to his expectations or fitting Washio's character. In a way, his memories of high school became skewed, because he could no longer see the old Washio as being a commonplace guy like him. No, the Washio that he knew now seemed to overwrite the high school version, and this Washio was far cooler, far more amazing, and was just as grand and awesome as their teammates had been back then and still were, almost a decade later.

These were not the kinds of thoughts Onaga developed overnight, nor were they the type that would vanish with one uplifting word or kiss from his lover. Things clicked into place for the younger owl now, that Washio likely was hiding his taste in men from his unspectacular partner, and it became harder for Onaga to enjoy the good things when he was so wrapped up in his head.

"Hey, Onaga…," Washio started one early Sunday evening towards the end of May.

Onaga tensed. Oh, no. Was this it? Was Washio about to break up with him? But, why now? Why be so cruel, after Onaga had tossed a garden and fruit salad together for dinner, complete with a homemade cranberry vinaigrette that he'd slaved to make before Washio came over earlier in the day?!

"Onaga?" Washio cocked his head slightly and touched the younger man's arm while Onaga finished making up his own plate.

The bundle of nerves counted to three to make sure his voice was steady. "Yes, Washio-san?"

Washio frowned, not very convinced by his cheery tone. "The dressing… Um, not to be rude, but…it's too sweet."

Oh. Onaga's shoulders loosened, surprised that that was all. "Is it?" He tasted it, and he realized Washio was right. "Crap. I forgot the vinegar."

"I appreciate you trying to make it, though," Washio said, leaning against Onaga as he made up a fresh plate without the dressing.

Onaga nodded, but that was only the first instance of the sort, and his unenthusiastic feelings about their lack of a future came through more and more in his cooking. Where the vinaigrette had been too sweet, a soup Onaga made another time was too salty, the miso for another meal, too bland. When Onaga packed a couple of lackluster lunches, Washio spoke up again.

"That's unlike you," he told Onaga as they sat outside under a shady tree, their jackets beside them on the stone wall surrounding the bit of landscaping a company in the city could afford.

Onaga shrugged. "I'm just coming down with a summer cold," he insisted.

Washio's expression appeared pained, and his eyes told Onaga that he didn't believe him, but Washio, despite certain changes in his character, oddly kept quiet and stopped pestering his fellow owl.

_Ah_ , Onaga gloomily thought when he sneezed unconvincingly, _maybe the disinterest starts here_. And, if that really were the case, then Onaga knew he no longer had a reason to hold on to his RSVP, so he mailed it back the next time he was on his own, checked as single, since he couldn't untangle the idea of Washio not wanting to go with him from the notion of Washio not wanting to go at all.

* * *

"Hey, everything okay?"

Washio gave Okabe a wary look. "…why do you ask?"

"Because you've had your bottom lip caught between your teeth for the past two hours," the bespectacled guy replied.

Had he? More importantly— "You kept track?"

" _Friendly_ track," Okabe assured him. "So what's going on?"

Washio opened his mouth—and quickly shut it. He'd been wondering what to do if Onaga actually fell sick, because he'd never had to take care of anyone before. He'd always been a healthy kid, and his parents had never been sick or bedridden in his memory. Sure, Konoha and Sarukui had gotten sick a few times, and once Akaashi had had a terrible fever that made Bokuto wail that the setter was going to die, but their families had looked after them, not their friends. So Washio had no experience of the sort, but he at least knew not to ask Okabe for advice. He could picture the joker trying to work in lewd suggestions if Washio told him Onaga might be coming down with something, and Washio really couldn't handle that right now, not when he was this preoccupied that, in all the ups and downs the past few weeks, he hadn't noticed Onaga's poor health.

But, though Okabe wasn't an option, Konoha was, and Washio texted him for help:

_-Tips for caring for someone under the weather?_

Unfortunately, the unusual message earned him some teasing from his friend:

_-You've never done this before? Then who's the lucky winner? ;D_

Washio ignored Konoha's prodding.

_-All I can figure is to get ice packs and make porridge, depending on the situation._

He didn't think that was a bad idea. At least it showed he was somewhat knowledgeable. But then Konoha told him otherwise:

_-JUST ICE PACKS & PORRIDGE? What's your reference, TV?_

The gruff man huffed at his phone and decided that Konoha, too, wasn't an option.

Nevertheless, when Washio was later at the store by his apartment, pouring over the endless selection of remedies in the medicine aisle, Konoha called him. "I still can't believe you're taking care of a sick person," he exclaimed without so much as a greeting, though Washio realized, headstrong people that they were, they often didn't bother with greetings.

Washio groaned. "I'm not taking care of anyone yet."

"So you're just prepping? Man, that's morbid."

"No, I'm— I just have a feeling," Washio finished. He bit back from adding "And if you've nothing helpful to add, then I'm hanging up."

"Huh. Will this person be better in time for the wedding?" Konoha asked. "I can ask Yukie to change your 'plus one' status, y'know. It's not too late."

Washio grimaced. "No…I'll be alone," he asserted, and he honestly believed it. Even if he hadn't felt that going with Onaga would be like opening a can of worms for the younger male, lately…it wasn't just that strained smile that troubled Washio. For Onaga no longer to put his heart into his cooking… That was serious, and Washio had been careful to keep from thinking that maybe Onaga had realized at last that Washio being his senior by two years wasn't the only hurdle, that dating someone of the same sex was very different from dating someone of the opposite sex.

There was a sound more than a sigh on Konoha's end, a noise between a sigh and a sympathetic mewl. "You know," Konoha began slowly as Washio pushed a few generic items into his basket, an action meant to take his mind away from dark places, "it's perfectly fine to share with me about other parts of your life, Washio."

The quiet man stopped what he was doing and rested a hand on the store shelf, leaning on it.

Probably sensing he had Washio's attention, Konoha pushed on. "You're my friend, Washio. I want you to be happy, too." His tone was the same as if he'd said "C'mon, man, just lend me your umbrella." Plain. Honest. Genuine. Unconditionally friendly.

And Washio kind of needed that right now. "…the person…I might look after… _is_ someone I care for a lot," he admitted. His face felt warm, even though no one else was in the aisle to eavesdrop.

There was a delay. Then, just as quietly, Konoha inquired, "Do you love them?"

Washio paused. He let go of the shelf and straightened up, dwelling on the question. "Do I love them?" he echoed, but, really, it was more like wondering aloud, considering seriously for the first time that maybe that was the case.

* * *

Lying only invited more trouble, which Onaga learned the hard way about a week and a half before Konoha and Shirofuku were slated to marry.

He'd really faked those first few sneezes two weeks ago in front of Washio, but those fake sneezes had turned real the more he fibbed to avoid uncomfortable topics or, as of late, to get out of eating with Washio after work and finally out of eating lunch with him just yesterday. But now Onaga woke up in the middle of the week with a genuine summer cold, and he remained in bed a while, thinking it karmic retribution.

It had to be karma. Why shouldn't it be? He hadn't been honest with Washio, telling the older owl what he'd been thinking and feeling, that maybe they were fooling themselves by thinking this relationship was serious.

…then again, even delirious, Onaga disliked such thoughts, which gave him a stomachache and heartache, because he didn't really think any of that. For him, at least, this relationship was real. Every touch had meant something to him, every kiss had been done on purpose and with intent, and every loving and kind word had been spoken with love and kindness backing them.

Gods, this would be fair, wouldn't it? To catch a simple summer cold and have it worsen and kill him before he could tell Washio the truth and set things right between them and maybe, if he were lucky, coax one of those Washio smiles Onaga loved so much from him before he left this plane and joined his ancestors…

His thoughts blurred into his dreams as he went back to sleep, but he woke up again a short time later, thinking he'd heard someone at his door. Only when he heard knocking a second time did he muse that maybe this was reality, and he got to his feet, shuffling and at times stumbling on his way to let his guest in.

Washio furrowed his brow, seeing Onaga in thin pajamas and wrapped up in a blanket. "I thought you'd be home," he said, putting a bag down and coming inside, kicking his shoes off in the process.

Onaga didn't have the strength to turn him away, even though the sight of him made Onaga want to cry for fear that nothing good would come from this surprise visit. "Washio-san…you didn't have to…"

The other man shook his head and put an arm around his waist, leading him back to bed. "It was strange that you didn't answer my texts last night or this afternoon, so I dropped by Accounting, and they said you hadn't been in." He smiled gently, his concern evident on his softening features. "But you, playing hooky? Not a chance," he said, holding the sheets up until Onaga was comfortable and could be tucked in.

Onaga pouted, his lower lip quivering. "I'd… I'd never play hooky…!"

"I know, I know," Washio said, a chuckle in his voice.

"But I wouldn't…!" Onaga cried. A sob welled up in his chest, but he couldn't write it off as his cold messing with his head, not when he felt this hollow and miserable.

"Onaga—"

The younger owl reached for Washio's arm, a nonverbal plea that Washio stay and hear him out. "No! I would never play hooky, and I—I wouldn't ignore your messages or calls! I really _do_ want to talk to you, Washio-san…! I want to talk to you and eat with you and be with you—"

"Onaga, I get it, but you can tell me this when you don't have a fever, and—" Washio cursed once he pushed Onaga's flailing limbs aside and felt his forehead. "Damn. You're burning up. Let me get you some water—"

"No…," Onaga yowled, holding on to Washio's arm for dear life. He shook his head and hiccup–sobbed while Washio sat on the edge of his bed and patted his head. "No…you don't understand… I know I'm not good enough… I know I'm never good enough… But I really, _really_ , _really_ don't want to lose Washio-san…! Because I love him…! But I want to cry because I know I'm not his type… I'm not good enough…"

He nodded off after, but his dreams were such cruel beings. As he slept, he dreamt of soft kisses pressed to his head and words spoken right in his ear: "You are more than good enough."

* * *

Washio, for a time, was rooted to the spot.

Who wouldn't be? Onaga's words, fever-addled though they were, were frank and spoken from a heart not censored by a clear head. Washio wondered if maybe he had a thin shell around his heart that had kept him out of relationships until Onaga; if so, that shell had been melting since growing closer to the younger man, and it'd just dissolved completely, hearing Onaga's confession.

And that was another thing, Washio realized, extricating himself from Onaga's weak grip so he could tuck the poor guy in and go get the water and medicine for when he next woke. Washio had only come to the realization with Konoha's help recently, but Onaga had beat him to it, saying "love" first…or, really, at all.

He sighed and pulled Onaga's bedroom door mostly closed, leaving it open by a crack should Onaga call out for him. Washio then returned to the small entryway and shed his thin sweatshirt, hanging it up on one of the hooks on the back of the door. He picked up the bag he'd brought and went to the kitchenette, and he spread his supplies out, putting this and that away, setting the water and medicine aside for later, putting the makings for porridge in the cupboard, placing fresh towels by the sink so he could wet them at a moment's notice, sorting through the plastic baggies and the baby wipes and the bland, easy-on-the-stomach food—all the while trying to sort out his feelings.

Washio turned away from the items and leaned against the sink's edge, crossing his arms in front of his chest, his eyes walking back to Onaga's room, lingering on the crack he'd left open. He hated seeing Onaga sick, all pale lips and glassy eyes and skin whiter than a sheet one second and flushed the next, and he hated more hearing how pitiful Onaga could be when his emotions were heightened by weakened inhibitions. He cared for Onaga a lot. He _loved_ Onaga, a lot.

…the ease with which he finally admitted that to himself surprised him, but it also brought a sad smile to his lips.

Onaga tossed in bed then, and Washio went to him, to see what he could do to help. There was nothing to do, and the next several hours passed like this, with Washio watching him sleep or putting a cold towel on his head. At times, Onaga snuggled his pillows as he slept the fever off, and the scene was incredibly cute, Washio thought, even if Onaga was not necessarily a "cute" size.

Eventually Washio retired to the living room, and dropped to the floor, the news on the TV low in the background for the comfort, as his inner musings were poor company. But he knew why Onaga's love and his own reservations had him stewing like this.

It was not only that Washio didn't want Onaga to live through another experience as he had with his ex-girlfriend. But…Onaga had had an ex- _girlfriend_ before. No, he had assured Washio, he didn't care they were both male, but Washio still wasn't certain he wanted to expose Onaga to the full gay life, not yet, not when Onaga was still pretty new to this—to dating a man, to being in a genuine loving relationship. Yes, they were older and the world had changed…some. It didn't mean it was a perfect place. It was still a place with people who wouldn't and didn't understand, a place with people who had no filters about what they said or with how they treated others, a place with Mitsurus who wouldn't give up even when others were happy already…a place with people who might threaten harm.

He crossed his arms atop Onaga's desk/dining table and rested his chin on them. He inhaled, exhaled, and determined to clear the air once Onaga was better.

* * *

Over the next several days, Onaga couldn't be certain what was fact and what was fiction. At times, he heard Washio's voice in his ear, telling him simple things like "You'll be better soon" and "I'm not going anywhere." Other times, he imagined Washio cooked him a sumptuous five-course meal full of his favorite foods, swore Washio was dressed as a nurse, and felt they'd had one round of thorough fun between the sheets.

The last delusion helped the fever to break, and Onaga felt shame twice when he revisited the reverie in the morning when he was awake fully—once, for thinking that the promise of sex was enough to heal him; a second time for thinking that he _wasn't_ all that ashamed to be revived by such a promise. Plus, feverish sex seemed fun and hot, even by his imagination's standards.

He got to his feet, chuckling at himself in his ridiculousness, and left his room, ready to shower. Gods, when had he last showered or left his apartment? And there was Washio to consider, too, since Onaga hadn't spoken to him for—

"Ah. You're up."

Onaga froze in his tracks, almost tripping over Washio where the older man sat at his table, reading a newspaper and drinking black coffee. " _Washio-san_?!"

The gruff man picked his head up and locked eyes with him. "Onaga," he deadpanned, pointing at the younger owl. It was, Onaga realized, an attempt at making a joke.

Yeah, that shame from before? It returned, and heat flooded Onaga's cheeks as he tugged on his t-shirt's hem and hoped nothing sprang up without warning. "Ah. Um. What—what are you doing here?"

"Taking care of you. You had a fever, you know."

"No, I—I know. I, uh, I think I'm okay now."

Washio nodded, returning his attention to the paper. "Good. I think it broke last night, but you needed at least another night of good rest after expending so much energy."

For a second, Onaga thought maybe Washio had made another joke he didn't grasp. But then, to the taller man's horror, he spied a couple of fresh love bites peeking from under Washio's shirt collar, bites located near the right hollow of his neck. He dropped to his knees beside Washio, shocked, and he felt even worse when he observed the unusual way Washio sat, with his legs off to one side and not folded or crossed under him, like… " _Oh my gods, Washio-san, I am so, so sorry_ ," he blurted in one breath, bowing with the utmost sincerity.

"Onaga, it's okay," Washio told him. He turned a little and acted as if he hadn't winced in making Onaga sit up straight. "Don't do a dogeza and make the blood rush to your head just when the fog's broken. You'll summon the fever back."

"But—" Onaga shut up when Washio pressed a finger to his lips.

"I mean it. You don't have to apologize." He averted his eyes guiltily. "At first, I thought you were back last night, so I didn't push you away, plus you were really…cute, hanging on to me and…refusing to let me leave your room…"

Oh, _fuck_. He'd really crossed a line, even if Washio disagreed. But, as Washio wanted to drop the subject, Onaga obliged, and he surveyed his apartment and how comfy Washio looked, sitting there as if he woke up here every morning. "So…how long…?"

"About a week."

Onaga was out of energy to be surprised. "You didn't stay here the whole time?"

Washio glanced at him and finally pushed the newspaper aside. He motioned for Onaga to sit adjacent to him, much as they did under their usual circumstances, and ran a hand through his hair. "I _did_ stay the first couple of nights, out here, in case you needed anything. But I still went to work, and I checked in on you during lunch, and I returned after. But, aside from last night, I went home."

Onaga's heart swelled with affection. He wanted to ask "Really?" but decided a bashful Washio would clam up right now if teased, so instead Onaga thanked him. "Seriously. Thank you for everything."

"Think nothing of it. I—"

How strange for Washio to hesitate! Onaga gave him an encouraging smile, hoping he'd continue.

"—I'd do it again, should the need arise," Washio finished, and his serious expression seemed at war with the precious stoplight hue dusting his cheeks. He narrowed his eyes at Onaga. "But maybe you should regain your strength fully before you decide to get sick again," he added.

Coupled with his flat tone, there was no doubt in Onaga's mind that Washio had guessed Onaga had lied about having a cold before, and Onaga managed to make his smile meek. He wanted to tell Washio the truth—about being right about Onaga's fake cold, about all of the mishaps between them lately, about how he felt. But, though these emotions bubbled up to the surface, Onaga's meek smile faded into a frown, because it was hard to form the right words, words which wouldn't quite come out either way.

Washio…exhaled. It wasn't exactly a sigh, but it was a released breath, and he leaned forward so he was in Onaga's line of sight again, even though the other male had dropped his head in his musings. "Onaga. You are more than good enough."

For a moment, Onaga was confused. Then a vague memory of Washio saying those same words floated to the front of his mind, and he stared at Washio. Oh, no. Just how much of his dreams had been real?

"I don't know where you got the idea that you'd lose me or aren't good enough or aren't my type—"

Onaga shook his head. "I… To tell the truth, it was something I'd thought of just a bit, but then Okabe-san told me you, erm, prefer pretty guys… And that was right after that waiter flirted with you…"

Amazingly, Washio grunted and hung _his_ head, his body language a mix of "I'm an idiot" and "I'm going to _kill_ Okabe." "That's irrelevant," the older man said.

"Is it?" Onaga didn't know where he found it in him to be defiant, but he needed to be sure about this.

Washio picked his head up and frowned at Onaga. "Just because you don't look like the others doesn't mean I don't want you. I—I don't _want_ you to be like the others," he said, getting to his feet and turning from Onaga.

But this was the hope for which Onaga had been searching. He scrambled to his feet, too, but he kept a few steps behind Washio as the later moved towards the kitchen. "Do you mean it?"

"I didn't know…what to…," Washio started weakly, his nerves getting to him, "…what to do, to take care of a sick person." He rinsed some glasses left in the sink, continuing only with his back to Onaga. "But I learned. Quickly. Because…I wanted to help you. Because…" His hands stopped picking up glasses, and only the sound of the running tap water filled the apartment. "…well, because I…love you."

With all those awkward pauses, Onaga knew Washio meant it, too, and his heart throbbed at that. He crossed the distance then, coming up behind Washio and wrapping his arms around the other man's waist, burying his nose in the crook of Washio's neck. Ah, was his fever returning? He felt so hot, beside Washio like this. Even if it were the fever, Onaga didn't think he'd mind, so long as Washio stayed put in his arms. "Washio-san…! I really want to kiss you right now…!"

"Please don't. You're recovering from a cold."

"I know…"

Onaga had just about given up on the idea of more Affectionate Washio when Washio turned slightly. He brought a hand up and patted Onaga's head, ruffling his short hair, and then he kissed Onaga's temple gently, a kind of sweet compromise.

* * *

"You look nice."

"…"

"No, really. It's great on you."

A tiny part of Washio refused to believe Onaga, but mostly he was a mixture of happiness at hearing his lover's compliments and of excitement, considering they were at his apartment this morning to finish getting dressed for the wedding. They'd leave shortly, since they were attending—together.

Later that same day when Onaga's fever had broken, the younger man had ended up telling Washio all about getting an invitation and RSVP'ing for himself only. Washio had had his time to sulk…but he hadn't sulked for long. Really, he'd been upset for a brief moment before his guilt made him cough up the details of his exchange with Konoha—the first one, when Washio himself had said he'd be coming alone, not the second call, which would've been a tad too mortifying to share right now, if ever—but Onaga had insisted then and kept insisting now, when the subject came up, that it was okay, that he wasn't hurt by what Washio had tried to do, to protect Onaga from a public eye for which he might not be ready. If anything, the gesture meant a lot to him…but Washio fretted that Onaga was merely putting on a brave face, because the fact still stood that things hadn't been right between them for a short while, all because Washio had kept something from him.

But, as he dwelled on the past few days, Washio now chastised himself, and he focused instead on the sight before him. He let a small smile slip out as his gaze lingered.

"I'm glad you finally agree with me," Onaga said, facing him. He flicked a piece of lint off the black rental tuxedo Washio wore, also admiring the view. "This was Konoha-san's only demand, wasn't it?"

Washio groaned and straightened the lapels. "Yes… Even though I'm not officially the best man, he told me to come wearing a nice tux, because he wants me to be a part of the wedding party at least in photos." And, with the whining he'd endured, Washio had been too exhausted to do anything but oblige.

"You're very handsome in it."

Washio pursed his lips and shot Onaga a tiny glare, but he couldn't argue with Onaga. Honestly, Washio was rather distracted by the nice silhouette before him, and he had to fight to think straight as he reached for Onaga's tie to redo the fumbled knot. The tie was green–black to match Onaga's suit, and they'd gone back to the clothing store and bought that gold silk shirt to complete the ensemble. Onaga didn't believe this outfit was necessarily right for a day wedding in the summer, but he hadn't remarked further by the fourth time he'd caught Washio going slack-jawed at him.

As Washio fixed Onaga's tie, the taller owl stared at him, and he began to play with Washio's hair, which was styled up like usual. Onaga fiddled with the tufts by Washio's right ear at first, and then he slowly ran his fingers through Washio's hair, eventually smoothing it back. "You know…you'd also look handsome with your hair slicked back, Washio-san."

The older man's cheeks flushed with warmth at his words. "…would it _really_ look nice like that?" he asked quietly, done with his boyfriend's tie, eyes and hands resting on a chest broader than his.

"It would. But it's fine if you don't want to. I love you either way, Washio-san."

Washio snapped his head up, eyes wide, red creeping back into his cheeks just when he thought they'd steer the conversation elsewhere.

Onaga was fine with stating his feelings unabashedly, now that they were out there, and he smiled brightly at Washio. But then his look softened, and he bent down slightly to kiss the other man gently. "Honestly, I do," he breathed against his lips.

Unfortunately, the silent owl's penchant for being short on words didn't fail him, and Onaga's heart on his sleeve coupled with another round of kissing made him go a little weak-kneed. He held on to Onaga's tie, knowing he could fix it again in a jiffy…

Twenty minutes later, they were on the train, enjoying the ride as they sped towards the venue, sitting closely beside each other. Onaga looked like the king of the world, his wide grin giving everything away, though at least they hadn't wrinkled their suits _too_ badly. Washio kind of wished for the wedding to be quick so they could return early and have a night to themselves…and maybe wrinkle those suits _just_ this side of being beyond repair.

The train ride was not nearly as long, however, as Washio would've liked it to be, and the wedding ceremony ended up being much longer than he thought necessary, but the day was…nice. Washio got to be out with Onaga for a special occasion, Onaga got to be out with Washio for a special occasion, and no one paid them mind or even cast them a funny eye that they'd arrived together and stuck together throughout it all. It briefly occurred to Washio that perhaps he'd wanted Onaga along after all, for support in case he _did_ face someone awful, but…that turned out not to be the case. They, like everyone else here, were allowed to have a good time.

Konoha was ecstatic to see Washio, and the groom ran right over to him outside the church, since Washio and Onaga had arrived shortly before the ceremony and so the friends had not been able to catch up beforehand. "You made it!" the blond exclaimed, and he let go of Shirofuku's hand only to lunge at Washio with a giant bear hug. Onaga laughed and steadied them with a hand at Washio's back, and Konoha and Shirofuku hugged him, too. "Onaga, too! Damn, this is great."

"All we're missing are Sarukui and Komi," Shirofuku piped up, tugging her new husband back to her while hugging Washio's nearer arm. "Then we can get an official team picture~"

"Really?" Onaga asked, but he and Washio saw and spied the other familiar faces that emerged from the crowd. Bokuto and Yamiji chatted animatedly as they walked over to the newly married couple, and Suzumeda momentarily left her date, Yamagata's, side also to join her friends. Akaashi was reluctant to be in the group photo, but Washio and Onaga figured that reluctance came from having to set up a timer for his camera instead of being able to stay behind the lens, as Konoha and Shirofuku had hired him to be their photographer.

"Speak of the devils~ Everyone's here~" the bride announced just as Sarukui and Komi popped out from between two heavyset middle-aged women in the crowd. Komi was fine, but Sarukui was straining for breath since he wasn't short enough to dodge all the sweaty limbs.

"Fukurodani, line up!" Konoha called to the team, rallying everyone with two waves of his arm.

Bokuto pouted, yanking on his suspenders as a child would since he'd shed his suit jacket. " _I_ was the captain! That's _my_ line…!"

"And it's _my_ wedding day. Suck it up."

The former volleyball team did, indeed, line up: Sarukui and Komi struck a pose at one end, Onaga and Washio stood nicely beside them, Konoha and Shirofuku were swamped in the middle, Suzumeda made a victory sign along with Shirofuku, Yamiji and Akaashi wore pleasant smiles beside the blonde ex-manager, and Bokuto flanked the other end, less a part of the picture and more like a photobomb. His boisterous antics in front of the camera threatened to topple everyone over like dominoes if they didn't get this over with soon.

While they waited for the shutter to snap, Washio felt Onaga's hand at the small of his back, a steadying, reassuring warmth that made him instinctively smile—but then Washio sensed eyes on him that were not Onaga's, and his smile dropped and his stomach sank. Washio turned in time to see Konoha lift his head beside him, to see Konoha drag his sharp eyes away from where Onaga's hand brazenly molded with the gruff man's back.

…and, yet, his panic ebbed as Konoha grinned at him and faced the camera once more. "I'm happy for you, too, Washio," he whispered to his friend, and the shutter went off, catching little snippets of everyone's happiness on film, freezing them in time.

**Author's Note:**

> -w- This fic…just makes me happy. -w- It took me several months to write this, as I had all my notes down for the story, but I wanted to make sure every scene was well-crafted, hopefully almost as well-crafted as the scenes in "Unhandsome Men." I've also got a weakness for men in suits, but who doesn't? ;D For this story, it was important that we get to see how Washinaga approach continuing love while at the same time dealing with old issues that weren't going away—Washio being a semi-closeted but self-accepting gay man, Onaga's "track record" (if it can be called that) with romance, the reactions of those closest to them, and how they view each other in general. I like to think that I made it clear in "UM" that Onaga will pretty much stick with a decision once he's made it, so he really wasn't going to stop loving Washio here in "Simple People," because the act of loving him, both romantically and platonically, makes him genuinely happy, and Washio needed to know that. Frankly, though, despite their honesty with each other, sometimes it's just too hard to say anything, whether you have the right words formed or not, and I think that's the only real obstacle this couple will ever face, as they're both smart cookies who're pretty much noobs when it comes to love. -w- That said, I like how, at least with Washio, we got to see supportive friends (and I knew Konoha was gonna be like that from the start, but Okabe slightly surprised me, with how supportive he was of Washinaga? *lol*). Also, all the sexy times. ;3 Especially feverish sex… *LOL* Poor Washio—or maybe not? B) AHHH, I just really love them. And all my owl ships (Konoshiro, Akaboku, Sarukomi, Suzugata—because I like Suzumeda with Shiratorizawa's Yamagata for reasons). There were a bunch of details that carried over from "UM," so I strongly suggest you go read that if you haven't already—it's where the Washinaga love started, after all! :D And, lastly, dogeza is a type of prostration; look it up if you're curious (it's why the scene's so funny XD).
> 
> Thanks for reading, and please review! I have plenty more HQ! fics for you to peruse, and there's art, too, on my tumblr, le-amewzing, so I hope that can keep you happy as I write and come up with more Washinaga ideas~!
> 
> -mew-tsubaki :3c


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